


It Starts

by WhimsicalSesquipedalian



Category: Friends (TV)
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Friends cuz I’ve been rewatching and apparently have a lot of feelings, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Introspection, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-26 23:37:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18727156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhimsicalSesquipedalian/pseuds/WhimsicalSesquipedalian
Summary: It starts with a hug. One that you’ve been walking towards for a while now. Although the significance of it is lost on you in the moment, is lost on you until you both look back in a few years time and decide that that was it; that was when it started. But right now you don’t know that, you just know something is different.





	It Starts

It starts with a hug. It’s not like you haven’t hugged him before, hell you’ve even cuddled; late at night wrapped in a towel and a healthy dose of melancholy. So the moment isn’t unprecedented, and maybe you’ve been walking towards it for a while now. Although the significance of it is lost on you in the moment, is lost on you until you both look back in a few years time and decide that that was it; that was when it started. But right now you don’t know that, you just know something is different.

Richard is gone. And it hurts, fuck it hurts more than you thought anything could. You wanted different things; kids, you wanted kids. And Richard didn't. And you know no matter how much it hurts now, it would have been so much worse down the line when you were more than just a little bit in love with him, and you were tied together by more than just words and time. That doesn't change the fact that you found one of Richard's shirts this morning and felt your heart break for the second time. Or is it the third? It's hard to keep track when you can't remember what day it is. 

All you know is it’s late again. Maybe there’s a pattern here, in the timing of these moments, but you won’t realise that until later either. For right now you just know that it is. Late. And you’re sitting at the table on one of those old mismatched chairs, feeling like shit and barely holding it together when he saunters in. 

It the usual swagger, baggy clothes hanging on a loose frame that looks like it hasn't had a good feed in months. Which you know isn't true; he ate half your fridge out yesterday. He quips something sarcastic about Joey and a disturbing lack of food in their apartment, at this point you're starting to wonder if they even buy it in the first place. He’s not even looking at you, just sticking his head in the fridge and complaining about... well something, it’s hard to process anything right now. And he’s never been easy to follow in the first place.

You sob.

It’s loud, and messy, and unmistakable. You bring a hand to your mouth and hold your breath, but you know there's no point; he hears you.

The fridge door closes and you feel more than see him move next to you. The silence nearly breaks you all over again, but then there’s a hand on your shoulder and the gentle whisper of your name in your ear, and before you realise you're leaning into his warmth and burying your face in his neck. He wraps those gangling arms around you and puts a hand in your hair. And it doesn't make anything better, but damn does it feel good. And warm. And safe. Which considering how you were feeling only a few seconds before he walked in is some kind of miracle. 

You stay there for an age. Or maybe it's only a few seconds. Time doesn't seem to matter anymore as he traces patterns on your back and presses his lips gently into your hair. He pulls back and looks you in the eye. And then there's a deep breath, and some words about how you made the right decision and how strong you are and how he'll be there anytime you need. But honestly, right now the words don't matter. It's just his voice, and his eyes, and the fact that this strange and normally embarrassingly immature man is the only dry land in this raging tempest. Which is surprisingly okay, you think. It could be worse; it could be Joey.

* * *

 

It starts with a touch. It's not that either of you aren't particularly physically affectionate. You hug the girls all the time, and hit them when they're annoying, and kiss them when they're kind. And Ross is your brother. And Joey's, well, he's Joey, and if you had a dollar for every time you hit him for being obnoxious you wouldn't be living in this apartment, and you wouldn't be working that crappy diner, and you wouldn't... well you wouldn't a lot of things. 

And you've seen him hug the boys, and hit the boys. He doesn't kiss them, but then they're all too wrapped up in protecting their masculinity that the world could end before that would happen. You don't know if you've ever seen him that much with Phoebe, but if Ross is your brother by blood then Rachel is definitely his sister by circumstance. But it's that dynamic. The you and him and the him and you, that starts with touches on the shoulder and carefully placed smiles, and ends with you curled against his warmth in the middle of the coffee house, an empty sofa next to you and a feeling of comfort too great to let you care.  

You start to seek him out after that. When you're sad, or lonely, or just in need of that inexplicable reassurance that comes with another warm body being pressed against you. There's nothing more to it. At least not as far as you're aware, or as far as he is. You have relationships. You fall for Pete, and he falls for Cathy. And both end in pain.

But through it all there are hugs, and touches, and a comforting lack of space that moves from an occasional need to a fixture in your routine. Until one day you're sitting in the apartment that used to be theirs' when he walks in and curls against you in your armchair like he belongs there. And there's a whole empty couch beside you, and Joey's sitting across from you telling his usual tales. And you realise somewhere along the road there was a line you both crossed to get here, but it’s so far behind you now that you couldn't define it if you tried. You just know that there's no returning from where you are, and there's an inevitable something that you're both hurtling towards; you think you're okay with that.

* * *

It starts in London. Ross is in love, and Joey's ridiculous, and your parents are about to drive you insane if they don't kill you with disappointment first. The girls are back in America and you ache with how much you miss them, but you can't blame them. Who could, with triplets in one hand, and a broken heart in the other. So its just you. And a room full of people you don't know, and at this rate, don't really want to. And your dress is too tight. And your hair took an hour and apparently makes you look forty. And to sum it all up you sorta wish you'd stayed behind as well, except that this is your brother, and this is kind of your dream, and no matter how much it sucks right at this second you know you'd hate yourself forever if you missed it.

Or at least you tell yourself that. Once. Twice. You lose count after your third glass of wine. You didn't used to be this much of a light weight, in more than one way, which is probably half the problem. With the drinking, that is. 

And then he's there, and he's looking surprisingly handsome in his nice suit. Or maybe not so surprisingly considering that you're now moving from tipsy into something very much like drunk. And he's putting his hand on your waist to steady you, and telling you that he wants you. Sort of. At least that's what you hear, and really right now that's all that matters as he walks you back to his room, a hand on the small of your back and an odd look in his eye. You'll understand it later, but right now it just tugs something in the bottom of your gut and ignites something in your chest. And you can definitely see the line when you cross it this time. And it feels good, it feels really fucking good. 

**Author's Note:**

> So I’ve been doing a Friends rewatch with my mum. And while I have a lot of issues with this show my favourite part will always be Monica and Chandler’s relationship.  
> And I hadn’t really noticed til this rewatch but there are so many scenes in seasons three and four where the two of them are cuddling or touching for no apparent reason. Which then sort of spiralled into this fic.  
> So I hope you enjoyed it.


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